Doldrums

So what's a good strategy for exercising when the forecast says it's going to be over 100°? That's right, go for your run before the sun comes up. My plan was to do my Saturday morning canyon jog before the biting bugs got out of bed, and before a dude out on the road would feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.

I got to the canyon at 5:30am and did a bit of stretching. Thanks to the miracle of modern photography, it appears to be daylight, but though there was enough light to see (sorta), the sun had not yet made its appearance at the horizon. It was already warm, but tolerable. And so far, anyway, there was no evidence of carniverous insects.

I felt pretty good, and was able to accomplish most of the trip up the first 6 miles without sending my hamstring into banjo-string mode. I drank lots of water and left a trail of perspiration staining the dirt, but became more and more optimistic that I might be having my best run in weeks.

I reached the foot of the dam, and performed the local tradition of touching the sign prior to turning around to head back down.
The first 200 yards after the turn-around are always the most dangerous part for me; it's rather steep, and my knees tend to protest the angle of descent. I tried to resume my jogging pace, but the time I took to snap a photo for you, my loyal readers, was enough to disrupt my rhythm. I limped and hobbled for the next mile or so, until I was finally able to loosen back up. Once I did, though, the run was rather routine.

I got tired, but I kept going. As the sun rose higher, I saw more and more people out for bike rides or hikes up the trail. At one point, a group passing in the opposite direction warned me of a rattlesnake catching some rays in the middle of the road, but by the time I reached the spot they'd indicated, he was gone. I was actually a bit disappointed. After all, compared to the man-eating tse-tse flies I had experienced on Thursday, a venomous viper barely rated as noteworthy. But it would merit a photo for this blog page, so I was bummed when all I saw was empty road.

It was indeed my best run for the last couple of months. I felt pretty good as I hopped in the car to drive over to the lake. Once I got there, I found my buddy Keith, who had recruited another fellow to swim with us as well. His name was Mike, and he was a pretty fast swimmer; he took off and I just tried to keep up by staying in his draft. The dude could navigate, too -- we completely avoided the sandbar, in both directions. Sweet!

Thanks to the draft, I was feeling pretty good as we passed the sandbar on the way back. I decided to try to push the pace a bit. It's a little tough to go into full hammer mode in that part of the pond, because there are so many other swimmers. Most of them are good lake citizens -- they wear brightly-colored caps and look up occasionally to see where they're going. But there are always a few folks in dark wetsuits and dark caps (nearly invisible along the surface of the water) who seem to be oblivious to traffic, just plugging along without the slightest clue what a hazard they present to the decent people in the water. Those, you have to watch out for. So...I had to lift my head frequently to take a sighting, while at the same time trying hard to accelerate the hands and keep the body position streamlined. It was tiring, but rewarding -- I had my best crossing time of the summer.

I felt so good that I did a couple more loops out to the sandbar and back. At that point, I felt like I'd had an excellent day of exercise, and should reward myself with a treat. So I went home and made a pizza.

As regular readers probably know by now, I hold the opinion that my own homemade pizza is the closest thing to Nirvana that can be achieved without having a female involved. As usual, it was delicious, satisfying, and nutritious. In fact, I'm pretty sure that my brief but tasty lunch replaced every single calorie that I had burned during several hours of morning exercise. And after all, isn't that the entire point of exercise? To be able to eat what you want?

Well, OK -- there's also the appeal of constantly being mistaken for Rambo or one of the American Gladiators (I sometimes give autographs just for fun)...but the real reason to pound the pavement and fight the waves is for the caloric benefit. Exercise, eat, sleep a bit, and then repeat. 'Tis a good life.

Of course, most people spend their Saturday afternoons out at the mall, socializing with friends, shopping for a new dustmop or crescent wrench or whatever. But considering the heat, the soporific effect of the industrial-strength pizza, and the fact that I hadn't spent much time with my guitar lately, I decided to devote the remainder of the day to hanging out at home. I did a little accounting, read a bit of a novel about a haunted laundromat, strummed the aforementioned guitar, and wasted more than a few minutes surfing through cable channels and wondering how the programming executives at these stations could be SO completely incompetent. (When "Facts of Life" reruns are the best thing on, you know you're in a serious TV drought. Just put down the remote and walk away, my friends. Just walk away.)

Sunday, though -- well, Sunday could prove to be a LOT more exciting. Stay tuned for that report, and have a great day!